


What You Don't Know

by Quiet_crash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s08e06 Southern Comfort, Gen, Mentions of Suicide, Samulet Fix-It, possible trigger warning, voicemail fix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:05:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4257537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_crash/pseuds/Quiet_crash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean comes back from Purgatory and finds his brother domesticated and withdrawn from the hunting life. Naturally he jumps to the conclusion that Sam abandoned him to find his cursed normal while Dean fought for his life. He should have known not to assume anything when it came to his little brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My shot at why Sam never looked at Dean post-S07 and an attempt at fixing their relationship. Maybe there'll even be hugs? The world needs more Winchester hugs.

Being possessed was not a funny feeling. In fact Dean felt rather rattled by it. He's never lost control over himself like this and it made him feel deeply unsettled, what with the remnants of his post-purgatory mindset clinging to him. He sat at the bar, guzzling whiskey like water, appreciating the burn as it went down. It was preferable to what he felt as he thought of what he saw in Sam's eyes as the spectre left him.

 

Not like he got to see Sam's eyes for long, the kid rarely met him stare for stare anymore. Mostly he walked around hunched, his bangs hiding his face from view. Dean wasn't complaining. He knew that Sam was hurting and it would show both on his face and in his eyes and Dean was not in the mood for that. He too was hurting and nobody cared so why should he saddle himself with Sam's guilt on top of his own issues? It was Sam's fault for not looking for him.

 

And he had the nerve to tell Dean off for his grudge and threaten to leave, the bastard.

 

Dean sighed, downing the last of his drink and standing up. He still didn't really feel like facing his brother but they were going to be on the road bright and early tomorrow so a hangover would not be appreciated on top of everything else.

 

He didn't even think of letting Sam drive the Impala.

 

Coming into the room (fortunately the bar was in a walking distance of their motel) he immediately saw Sam, sitting upright, his back against the wall, in his pyjamas like he'd been waiting for Dean to come back and fell asleep. That wasn't what made the older brother stop in his tracks. It was the gun Sam held in his slack hand, resting on his chest, barrel pointing up somewhere over his shoulder.

 

Now this was unexpected. What the hell was Sam doing with a gun in his hand like it was a stuffed toy?

 

Dean quietly came up to his brother and delicately extracted the weapon from his clutching fingers. The safety was on. Dean stuffed the thing under Sam's pillow and shook his shoulder. Sam jerked awake, his hands automatically curling into fists and Dean closed his eyes briefly, thankful for his foresight.

 

“What the fuck were you doing sleeping upright, Sam? Lay down, I don't want to deal with your mood swings when you wake up all aching” he said gruffly, turning around and heading to the bathroom to take a shower and get some sleep before tomorrow. Sam didn't say anything and when Dean came back into the room he was under the covers, his eyes closed and breathing calm.

 

Dean killed the lights and got under the covers into his own bed, pretending not to realize that Sam was faking sleep.

 

 

The next day was spent almost entirely in the car with only brief stops for food and bathroom breaks. Sam was unnervingly quiet the whole time, sitting with his head on the headrest and just staring ahead. Not one quip was made about Dean's music or eating habits and he went out of his way to pick the things he knew Sam loathed.

 

Dean didn't bother questioning what crawled up his brother's ass to make him give him the silent treatment. Probably just the fallout from the spectre. Sam, the hypocritical child, had his delicate feelings hurt and was sulking.

 

 _Whatever,_ Dean thought _let him stew._

 

Silence reigned in the Winchester-land for the whole day.

 

During the course of the week Sam gradually got his fire back and for a while everything was relatively normal between them. They even argued again because that's just how it was now - they didn't know how to talk to each other normally anymore. And so, to honour the long Winchester tradition Dean decided to go to the bar, whereas Sam stayed at the motel to mope. He was asleep by the time Dean got back.

 

Strangely though, the situation from the spectre incident happened again. The next day Sam was pensively, sullenly quiet and Dean could count all the words his brother said to him on one hand.

 

Now, Dean wasn't stupid and as the saying goes - one is an accident two is a coincidence but three is a pattern. He didn't even have to wait long to confirm his suspicions. It happened yet again two weeks later. Argument, Dean off to bar, next day Sam does his best marble statue impersonation and for the next couple of days gradually regains the ability to speak.

 

And three is a pattern, so Dean, immensely and honestly curious (because Sam's never been like this - silent, yes but never this _calm_ and _accommodating_. Everyone knew when he was upset, he made sure of that) of what Sam does alone in the motel room to be this serene, went as far as to stage another minor fight and then waited.

 

He barely had the time to scramble for cover as, around ten minutes after he had “left”, Sam got up, still all furious and hurt (and Dean _didn't_ feel guilty about putting that look on his kid brother's face), stuffed his favourite gun in his pocket and left the room.

 

Dean would have guessed he'd go find another bar, except in this backwater town there was only one of those. No, Sam walked fast heading in the direction of the woods that grew eastside of the little town, beginning right behind the last row of houses.

 

His pace was brisk and he didn't stop until he found a tiny clearing where the last rays of sun managed to break through the foliage. Dean got pissed for real by that time because of course Sam would go trample through the forest where he's a _bitch_ to follow. However Dean _was_ the best hunter on the planet, so he somehow kept up without alerting Sam to his presence and then found a nice spot to watch his brother from as he finally settled down, leaning on a tree.

 

And then he just watched.

 

Sam, for his part, seemed to have walked off most of his anger. Truth be told he appeared more hurt and upset than irritated anymore. Leaning on the tree he sighed deeply and put his head in his hands, all hunched and still.

 

He was a picture of misery. Okay, Dean admitted to feeling _a little_ bit guilty because this time it wasn't even a real fight, just an experiment.

 

Sam stayed in that curled position for a few minutes before suddenly taking a deep, shuddering breath and punching the ground beside his butt with a tiny whimper deep in his throat.

 

“Why is this getting _worse_?” he gasped quietly and fine, Dean was more than a little bit guilty now.

 

And then the younger hunter sighed, leaning back fully and taking his gun out of his pocket. Dean stilled. Sam gazed at the thing quietly and it was like a transformation was taking place right before Dean's eyes. All the remaining anger and tension was melting our of Sam as he stared at the gun and then pressed it flat to his chest like he was hugging it.

 

It was… seriously weird. Dean knew that this was Sam's favourite gun and all but it was a weapon Sam used to kill things and that has always been it. Now it seemed to have some deeper feelings attached to it and frankly Dean didn't like it. Who the fuck cuddles their gun like it's their best friend?!

 

Sam's head fell back against the trunk of his tree as he stared at the evening sky. He seemed so utterly defeated it was pathetic to watch. Not to mention boring, Dean thought closing his own eyes, because the damn kid wasn't doi-

 

The safety hammer clicked.

 

Dean stilled, not sure what was going on, his eyes flying open.

 

Sam held the gun loosely in a hand that lied on his bent knee, away from his body now, upside down and _pointed at himself_ . Before Dean could gather his wits enough to run and intervene because what the fuck, was Sam going to kill himself now, was that why he came _oh god he came into the forest, deep enough to insure nobody would find him in time and he was going t-_

 

Sam leisurely swung the weapon so that it was now upright and the bullet would go into the forest. The safety clicked back on. Dean blinked, feeling like he had whiplash, completely nonplussed. So… no killing, okay, that was good-

 

and the gun was upside down pointing at Sam again, safety off. And then back up straight, safety on. Sam wasn't even looking at it, his eyes still lost in the darkening sky. It looked like he was… playing with the damn thing, from the lack of a better word. He held it in his fingers loosely, swinging it around, his breathing easing into a relaxed rhythm, all muscles loose…

 

Dean had a sudden vision of Sammy, age five, sprawled on the Impala's backseat, about to drop to sleep. That's how Sam looked right now - like the gun-love helped him unwind and find peace again.

 

Well, good for him. Dean, on the other hand, had so many questions now. He could only sit there and stare wordlessly as Sam swung the gun around until finally it was almost too dark to see anything. That's when the younger hunter clicked the safety on for the final time and stood, tucking the gun back into his pocket. Soon he was on the way back to their motel. Dean watched him go, still shell-shocked, noting the familiar calm expression on his face, underlined with that endless sadness.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected truths are learned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this was so not what I was planning here. I mean I had to add tags 'cause surprise! The voicemail!fix basically wrote itself. Anyway I hope you like it and I swear I AM going to deal with S08, hopefully in the next chapter.  
> Thank you for reading!

When he came back to the motel room Sam was, as expected, asleep in his bed. Dean stood there in the door, just looking at him for a good couple of minutes, before taking a shower to get the grime of the forest floor off himself and slipping into bed himself.

 

It took a long time before he slept.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next day Sam wasn't the only silent Winchester in the car; a fact that Sam clearly noted because he sent Dean concerned glances every time he thought his brother wasn't looking.

 

Dean was thinking.

 

What had happened in the forest was… fucked up. Clearly Sam wasn't as healthy as he would like Dean to believe. Now he had to decide what to do with that knowledge. Dean wasn't one for talking things through. He was the ignore-it-until-it-goes-away type of guy. Alternately shoot-it-dead also worked for him.  This scenario in Sam's case wasn't going to happen - experience showed he fell back on his dealing method of choice every time something went wrong between them - and now Dean was struggling to decide on his course of action.

 

Because angry or not, Sam was his little brother. Seeing him treating a gun like his only friend, playing with it,  _pointing it at himself_ in order to feel better… Well, that sight rattled him enough to make place for emotions other than resentment in his heart; it reminded him what did it mean to be family.

 

And so now he was trying to come up with a smooth way of getting Sam to spill his guts while not appearing like that was what he wanted. Theoretically it should have been easy. After all Sam's always been the touchy-feely, emotional, talk-it-out Winchester which, yes, it had been driving John and Dean up the wall back in the days, but at the same time they couldn't help but notice it had its benefits (not that they would ever actually admit that).

 

Now though, Sam was closed off. He talked mostly in short sentences, to the point. Answered all questions but rarely started conversations on his own. The communication between them consisted mostly of the mundane help me with this or that or case-talk. Occasionally a random argument.

 

Dean tried to remember the last chick-flick moment Sam'd inflicted on him. He couldn't find anything relatively recent.

 

The older hunter couldn't help the grimace that appeared on his face. Fucking contrary kid. Never does what he's supposed to. You want to have peace he'll talk your ears off but when you want him to talk he clams up.

 

Four hours passed in total silence. One time Sam opened his mouth like was about to say something but then seemed to think better of it. Dean's temper rose steadily. His brother undoubtedly noticed his hands clenching harder on the steering wheel. Sam looked conflicted for the next half a mile, then sucked in a breath again and Dean was sure the awkward, tense silence would finally end but then Sam exhaled and settled back into his seat, shifting.

 

“Would you fucking stop!” Dean erupted finally. “What is going on with you this time!” 

 

Sam jerked, startled. “W-what?”

 

“Say what it is that you're dying to say or stop squirming because it's pissing me off!”

 

Sam bit his lip. “I'm not… I just wanted to ask if everything was okay. You're kind of-” he stopped, uncertain but then went on with “tense.”

 

“Just peachy” Dean growled. Frustration twisted Sam's features before he smoothed them out again, sitting back in his seat properly - meaning posture stiff, head on the headrest and eyes trained ahead. It pissed Dean off even more, that calm and silent routine was getting really fucking old.

 

An awfully long hour later Dean pulled up to a gas station. He left Sam at the pump and went to pay, grabbing a few packets of M&Ms and a six-pack of beer. The kid at the counter took his sweet time ringing him up and he didn't know if he should be happy or annoyed. On one hand Sam was out of his sight. On the other… well, Sam was out of his sight. Sure he wouldn't do anything stupid in a gas station but still. You never knew with that kid. As he was leaving the shop he saw Sam shutting the trunk of the Impala, where their duffels and guns were. Ice flooded his veins.  _Of fucking course! I leave for five minutes, five goddamn minutes!_

 

“Sam! I swear to god if you're looking for your gun-” he growled strolling over. Sam, startled, nonetheless held up a book in a mute answer but there was a question in his eyes, not to mention irritation which he tried to smother without much success.

 

“Why would I be looking for my gun?” He asked anyway, eyes squinting like he really didn't understand what was going on. “If you want to yell at me at least make sense.” 

 

Dean grit his teeth, feeling the muscle in his jaw jump. “Like you fucking don't know!”

 

“I… don't?” Sam tried but his grip on the book tightened, and Dean saw, of course he saw and it made him so fucking angry because here Sam was _lying to him again_.

 

“You maybe wanna stop bulshitting me now?”

 

The younger hunter tensed, realising that somehow Dean  _knew_ . “Can we not do this here?” he finally asked, casting a meaningful glance around the gas station.

 

Dean almost growled but got in the car and started the engine as Sam folded himself into the passenger seat, the book still in his hands, forgotten. He threw it in the backseat, apparently not in the mood to read anymore.

 

First motel down the road and Dean was pulling off the highway. He got them the most private room in the place, Sam took their stuff inside.

 

And then it was interrogation time.

 

Dean shut the door soundly and stood in front of it, glaring at Sam until he sat on his bed, furthest from the door, and started visibly pulling himself together, taking a deep, steadying breath. “How did you know?” Sam asked finally.

 

“I saw you. Yesterday, in the forest.” Dean explained trying for calm and collected. Sam pursed his lips but kept his cool as well. “And?” he asked.

 

Dean felt his anger spiking. “And? What do you think? Care to fucking explain yourself?” he snapped.

 

Sam was not phased. “What do you want me to say? You saw everything.”

 

“I want you to tell me what that was about! I mean I saw you hugging your damn gun and then swinging it around like it was a toy! You pointed it at your stupid self and took the safety off - how about you explain _that_!”

 

Sam blinked and seemed to gather his thoughts for a minute before he spoke shrugging. “I don't question your ways of dealing with stress and it's not like I was in any danger so what's the big deal?”

 

It was like Sam was being difficult on purpose; Dean was  _this_ close to punching the ever-loving shit out of him.

 

“So playing with the safety hammer helps you unwind?" Dean couldn't help the sarcasm in his voice. He was scared, okay? What he saw shook him up, he wouldn't deny that. For a second there he had been sure that Sam was going to _kill himself_ and even after, his playing wasn't really conductive to Dean believing everything was fine. People who are fine don't play with guns, dammit!

 

"Yeah" Sam responded with a careless shrug. "It does seem to help. "

 

"And exactly how many times have you tried this trusted method?" After all it was a practiced kind of ease with which Sam swung the gun around and he's done it at least four times now that Dean noticed it. Who knew how many more? And the older brother had known nothing about it.

 

“A couple. Look, Dean, what's your point?”

 

“My point, you damn moron, is that apparently pointing a loaded gun at yourself makes you feel better. Do you see my point now?” he drawled through his teeth.

 

“You thought I was going to kill myself?” Sam asked still sounding infuriatingly calm. “I wouldn't, Dean, not when you're here.”

 

“Oh really! Because from my point of view it looked quite fucking different!”

 

Sam looked him dead in the eye. “Dean. I wouldn't kill myself when I have you with me.” he said emphatically. Then he shrugged. “Unless you wanted me to. I mean I know you were possessed but that speech didn't come from nowhere. And you tried to shoot me, so…”

 

“Are you completely insane?” Dean said but it lacked all bite. Whoa. Well that wasn't something he saw coming. Like, at all. It threw him; Sam, his little brother, the damn center of his world, thought Dean would like to see him dead.

 

“No.” Sam narrowed his eyes, his calmness dissipating slowly, hands clenching on his jeans. “It's a legit question, Dean.”

 

Dean gaped at him, shocked beyond words, so Sam ploughed on. “It's not like you never wanted to before. So I'm asking you: do you want me to go, or do you not?”

 

“I- no! Of course not!” Dean stammered, his heart hammering in his chest.

 

Sam kind of sagged where he sat, like he was a balloon and all the air was escaping out of him, all the fight. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “I'm glad.” And then he stood like that was it and Dean, sized with sudden fear, honest to god  _growled, Sam was not to leave before some things were cleared_ . “Stay where you are!”

 

Sam jerked, looking at him with wide eyes but sat back down, silent. Dean took a deep breath.

 

“Sam,” he started “there have been many times when I was pissed at you, disappointed, hell, there were times when I didn't even wanna look at you.” Was it his imagination or did Sam really curl in on himself with every word Dean said like they were punches? He went on. “But I never once wanted to kill you. _Never_. Where did you get that idea?”

 

Sam shrugged jerkily, eyes starting to fill, which,  _oh hell_ , but said nothing.

 

“Sam, I'm willingly instigating a chick-flick moment with you. Don't be difficult” Dean damn well pleaded. And that was what it took. Sam looked at him through his bangs with those damned kicked puppy eyes and _sniffed_.

 

“Well,” he rasped “there was that time I let Lucifer out of his Cage. I… I've been having second thoughts but when I heard that message from you… I thought if you ever saw me again you'd k-kill me anyway, so… I just went in. And I kept it, to remind myself that I couldn't take you for granted anymore… That I had to work to stay on your good side 'cause… 'cause I wasn't your brother anymore and there was no going back.” he almost choked on the last words, his shoulders shaking. “I don't know why you didn't kill me then. I was kinda waiting for it, you know? But you never did and I tried so hard not to let you down anymore and-”

 

“Wait, Sam, whoa. My message? The voicemail I left you after we fought?” Sam just nodded his head pathetically. “You still have it?” Nod. “Gimme.” Dean demanded. He could hear an echo of Zachariah's voice in his memory, _a nudge in the right direction_ , and he was having a really bad feeling about this.

 

Sam wordlessly dialed his voicemal and held the phone out for him to take. Dean put the phone to his ear and damn near recoiled at what he heard. The pure venom in the voice that was unmistakably  _his_ but at the same time so different because what it said was absolutely terrifying and if it hurt Dean so much then how Sam must have felt listening to it?

 

When the recording ended Dean took the phone and decidedly deleted the thing. When he looked up Sam's eyes were huge and wet, fixed on his hands.

 

“It wasn't me, Sam. I did leave you a message but I apologized in it. It was a dick thing to do, repeat what Dad had said to you back then. I'm not him. Can you believe me?” Dean asked hopefully, desperately.

 

Sam hesitated but in the end nodded his head tentatively. “But, how?” he asked only.

 

“I don't- I think it was Zachariah.” Dean explained and recounted his stay in the gilded prison. Sam's lips were trembling but he was making an effort not to fly apart in front of his brother.

 

Dean just sat next to him and pulled him close.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally dealing with season 8! See, I promised. And more Winchester hugs, yay!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I managed to update on a schedule! And with a longer chapter, too. Oh, and turns out I need to add more tags, huh. This thing half-wrote itself, amazing.

Sam calmed fairly quickly and moved away, trying to wipe his face without Dean noticing. Dean mercifully pretended not to see anything.

 

He remembered Sammy when he was just a kid. He'd come to his big brother in tears and Dean would make it better and hold him until his crying tapered off until he fell asleep right there in Dean's arms, exhausted, clinging like a diminutive octopus.

 

Back in those days he had been Sam's hero and protector. If someone had come up to him then and told him a few years in the future Sam'd spend god only knew how many nights wondering if the coming day was the day that Dean finally killed him, he'd have beat them up into a coma. And yet, here they were.

 

But Sam trembling against him and wetting the material of his shirt with his silent tears fully woke that dormant protective big brother again and  _that_ Dean wouldn't have stood for all this, this distance and lack of trust and the hurting; Sammy hurting and unable to come to Dean.

 

Dean wasn't going to let things go on like that.

 

The younger hunter was still turned away, his posture screaming how miserable he felt. Dean took a deep breath, kept it in for a few seconds and then abruptly let it all out.

 

“Sammy?” he said watching as Sam froze and then turned to him, eyes huge and red. “I think we should talk, little brother.”

 

Sam barely held himself from breaking down  _again_ . He missed the special nickname so, so bad. And now Dean called him that  _and_ his little brother practically in one breath! It felt huge, in his chest, in his throat, squeezing new tears from his aching eyes, but at the same time so good and warm. It felt like  _home_ . Like the embrace he was gifted not five minutes before…

 

Then and there he'd do anything Dean asked of him. Talking wasn't something he was looking forward to but if that was what Dean wanted…

 

Sam nodded his head, mutely.

 

Dean almost smiled, but the fear of what he might find out erased all traces of joy.

 

“So...” he began awkwardly. “Why-… why were you playing with that gun? Really, why?”

 

Sam sighed. “I… when you were…  _gone_ . It made me feel closer. To you.”

 

Dean swallowed through constricted throat while his heart expanded in his chest, painfully thudding against his ribcage. “Closer to me?” he repeated questioningly.

 

“Yeah.” Sam's lips formed a grimace. “I thought you died and it's not like human souls are a frequent occurrence in Purgatory. I was sure you went to Heaven.” he fell silent for a few seconds. “I checked with Crowley anyway, and he said you weren't in Hell for sure.”

 

“Sammy...”

 

“I was pathetic.” Sam interrupted like he didn't even hear him; apparently the floodgates were open now. Dean was grateful that he wouldn't have to pry the confession from Sam. Listening alone would be hard enough, he suspected. “You were my stone number one.” _Oh_. “And when I lost you I just… fell apart. My first thought was to get you back. I… tortured a couple of demons; it was history repeating…  for a second I even wanted to storm Heaven, I was so messed up...” Sam snorted at himself. “But I had those moments of clarity, you know? And during one of them I realised what was happening. Because I was ready to tear the world apart, again, to get you back, and it wasn't like you were tortured this time. No, I thought you were happy. With Bobby and Ellen and Jo and Ash and everybody else and I was preparing to destroy that just to feel better.

 

“So I decided to do what I failed to do when the hellhounds-… I stopped hunting alltogether and… tried to live.” he smiled sadly. “It didn't go that well.”

 

“What do you mean?” Dean rasped, undone by the magnitude of what Sam was telling him, and so afraid of what he was going to hear next. His anger dissipated like vapor, swept away by understanding. He'd been furious that Sam had stopped hunting and hadn't been looking for him and it turned out Sam had been faring worse than he had. At least Dean's enemies had been corporeal. At least Dean had had something to fight for, someone to fight side by side with.

 

“I mean if it wasn't for Riot and… Amelia, we probably wouldn't have met in that cabin.” And there it was. Dean's breath caught in his throat because he suspected, yes, but to have it confirmed by Sam was like his worst nightmare coming true. Dean couldn't imagine what it would be like, to escape Purgatory into the world that didn't have Sam in it.

 

“Never before have I seriously thought about it like that,” Sam continued “but I didn't have a _reason_ anymore, y'know? Nothing to keep me _sane_ in here _._ And I'd rather die than put anyone in danger. Sorry for thinking of thrashing the Impala, by the way.” he added with a joyless quirk of his lips.

 

Silence fell as Dean processed Sam's words and Sam stared at his hands, lost in memories.

 

“Are you still thinking of going through with it?” Dean asked. “Since you still… with the gun…” he explained lamely. Sam looked at him.

 

“No.” he said decisively. “I told you I wouldn't do it now. I had thought about it when I was with Amelia. We… kind of helped each other stay above the surface but it was all there really was to it. And then Don miraculously came back to her and I left. She deserved to have her chance at happiness.”

 

“And you were alone again.” Dean prompted.

 

“Yeah well, not for long. I came to the cabin and there you were. My own miracle.” he shook his head, sniffing. “As for the thing with the gun… well, I did it when I was with Amelia, 'cause I felt hopeless. When you came back I was still kinda unstable and you were just so _angry._ We kept clashing. It fe lt like for every step forward we made five steps backwards and it messed me up even more because you were right there but I still felt… alone.” Sam admitted. “Worse, because I made the wrong call, failed you, _again_ , and-”

 

“No, hey, Sam, stop.” Dean interrupted finally. It was time he let Sammy off the hook, especially since hearing that confession made him realize exactly in what situation and state of mind Sam had been. He remembered when Sam was murdered in Cold Oak, how hopeless and broken he himself had been and it took only what, three days before he sold his soul to have him back? Sam, again, wasn't given an easy way out and again, tried to nonetheless make the best of it, with the last of his memories of the centuries-long torture he'd had endured in Hell tearing at him still. And truthfully, Dean had to admit he was grateful that Sam stopped hunting. A suicidal hunter is, after all, just a corpse living on borrowed time. Truest truth has never been spoken, even if Dean forgot who exactly came up with it. 

 

“ _I'm_ sorry.” he said sincerely and held up a hand when Sam opened his mouth to protest. “I was a dick to you. Purgatory had messed me up but I forgot that I wasn't the only one affected. You were hurting too and I ignored that because I jumped to wrong conclusions and didn't give you a chance to explain. I'm sorry for that.”

 

“It's okay-”

 

“Sam, could you stop? I'm trying to make things right here!” Dean said and the muscles in Sam's jaw jumped but eventually he relented, shutting up and gesturing for Dean to continue. “So, I was wrong. You didn't let me down. In fact I think you did exactly what you should have done. You stayed safe until I was able to come back and that's all I could really ask for.” Sam's lips started wobbling. Dean gulped but went on. “And man, I'm sorry for giving you crap about Amelia. I'm actually grateful for what she and that dog did for you, so don't feel bad or like you failed me. It's okay, Sammy.”

 

Sam took a second to get himself under control after that little speech. Eventually he took a shuddering breath and smiled at Dean; a true, shy little smile. It made Dean's inner big brother purr in contentment.

 

Then Sam spoke again. “I'm sorry too, Dean.”

 

“I think I just told you t-”

 

“Not for that. For Benny. I'm sorry for how I reacted to him. I'm grateful that he had your back when I wasn't there, that you weren't left alone. I was just… scared.” he admitted quietly.

 

“Why would you be scared? Of him?” Dean asked, confused.

 

“Well… you called him your brother. Things between us were strained, to put it mildly, and you two are so close… Of course I was scared.”

 

“You thought I would replace you?!” Dean said incredulously and Sam shrugged one shoulder; a clear confirmation, especially since he also made an effort to evade Dean's searching gaze. “Sam, I could never replace you. You're my little brother and man, you had my back all my life, a few months aren't gonna make a difference.”

 

“Thanks… for saying that.” Sam smiled at him again, that sad little smile. “I know what it's like to be possessed by a spirit that makes you hurt the people you love; I'll never forget what had happened in that asylum, when Ellicott got to me… the things he made me say and do even tough I never felt like that… so I tried not to take it to heart when you were under the influence of the spectre but it wasn't very easy…” he admitted. Dean blinked, shocked. Sam still remembered that? Still hasn't let it go when even Dean had? (And how can he throw the L-word so casually?!)

 

“Sam…” Dean pursed his lips, worried. “Can you tell me what I said to you with that penny? I don't really remember and it was probably lotsa bad shit…”

 

Sam kinda curled on himself and cleared his throat. “It, well, it wasn't…” he stuttered clearly unwilling to talk about it. Dean wouldn't have it. “Don't try to spare my feeling or whatever, okay? Just tell me!” he urged. Sam turned away from him and sighed.

 

“You said that Benny's been a better brother to you these past few months than I ever was.” Dean sucked in a breath and opened his mouth to protest but Sam held up his hand, stopping him. “You also brought up my shitty choices over the years: demon blood and Ruby, letting you down time and again, running around soulless, working with Samuel… and Amelia. And you pulled a gun on me. But that's really it.” Sam assured him eagerly; it felt like he was assuring mostly himself and it broke Dean's heart. “And we already talked about Amelia and Benny and obviously you don't want me to die so it's, it's okay, really.”

 

Dean maybe would have believed him if he wasn't still turned away.

 

“I'm so sorry, Sammy” he said, truly meaning the words, though still feeling off saying them. He's never been one to apologize with words, even to Sam. Mostly he'd just make a gesture, call Sammy bitch, tousle his hair or buy him one of his girly foods. Sam always got it.

 

“Don't.” Sam rasped. “You don't have to, I told you it's fine.”

 

“It's really not. Like being soulless was your choice. God, you probably think I'm full of shit but I did mean it every time I told you it wasn't your fault, what the soulless you did. 'Cause it wasn't really you and I never blamed _you_ for the things _he_ did topside while Lucifer tortured you in the Cage.” Dean's tone was pleading and maybe it was that or just Sam being tired of fighting but the kid sat kinda straighter, sighing, and looked at him from the corner of his eye.

 

“Thanks, Dean.” he said quietly. Dean steeled himself before continuing.

 

“As for Ruby…”

 

“You can't really say that shit _wasn't_ my fault.” Sam interrupted him, curling his hands into fists 'till his knuckles turned white, pure self-loathing ringing in his voice. “Instead of doing what you told me to I let her manipulate me and get me hooked on the blood. _I let Lucifer out of his Cage_ -”

 

Dean's hand on Sam's lips cut off anything else Sam was going to say. His patience finally ran out. Sam blinked at him, half shocked and half annoyed. “Shut up, would you? I think I get why you did all that, I just had to look at things from your perspective. Besides, It's forgiven already. You kind of made up for all of it when you let Lucifer possess you, took control and jumped into his Cage, dragging him and Michael with you, where you spent centuries being tortured, okay?”

 

He felt when Sam's lips trembled under his palm and he kept it there, gentling his touch. “And killing Lilith only opened the Cage because  _I_ started torturing souls in Hell so if we're blaming anyb-”

 

“Dean _you_ were tortured!” Sam exclaimed frantically, having pulled Dean's hand away, squeezing it in his hands instead. “Nobody's going to blame you for trying to save yourself! _I_ on the other hand-”

 

“Do you _want_ me to blame you or what?” Dean cut him off mid-word. “'Cause it feels like you do. Just let it go, man, I forgave you, okay? Everybody makes mistakes.” he assured Sam, noting how he jerked at the last word. “Me, you, hell, angels. Don't feel guilty anymore, okay? Because as far as I'm concerned it's all water under the bridge. And anyway I was going to say that if we're blamin' anybody it  should be Heaven and Hell.” he added.

 

Sam sucked in a breath, his eyes shining, and got that determined look on his face. “If we're doing it, then you don't feel guilty either.” he demanded. Dean's throat tightened but he managed to say “I'll try.”

 

This time there were dimples.

 

And if Sam's breath stuttered where Dean felt in on his neck, squeezing Sam to himself and being squeezed back within an inch of his life, well, his own cheeks were wet so he let it slide. Everything was finally right in his world. He had Sam, safe and happy, sitting right there beside him, and their bond healed and warm in his chest.

 

And that's all he ever really needed.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it, the last chapter. I admit that ratherastory 's Where There's Smoke was a big inspiration for this. It's an awesome story and if you haven't read it yet, go do it!

A week later they found themselves a case. A salt-and-burn and god how he' s missed them. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun on the job. Having his little brother with him, and not the broody, hurt and silent version, but his normal sassy and fond one, and none of the shit that caused problems between them, none of the resentment and anger, and Dean's life was practically perfect.

 

Well, not quite, because they still the problem of Kevin and occasionally Sam would regress and worry himself into nightmares, but mostly it was really great. They both made an effort and the results were amazing. Take that one time when Sam's sleep was disturbed by a Cage memory. He'd been so distraught and, god, pale and  _shaking_ in his bed, gasping for breath, Dean's heart broke. They ended up sleeping together that night, in one too small bed, back to back  and so  _close_ . Sam, who'd been freezing when he climbed next to Dean, warmed quickly and slept like a baby for the rest of the night. Dean watched over him for a while before he surrendered to sleep as well.

 

They didn't talk about it, because  _awkward_ , but it was a testament to how far they came and despite Sam's returning propensity for “chick flicks” Dean was just  _content_ with his life.

 

Up until the ghost they were hunting broke Sam's ribs, throwing him into a pile of ruble - down two flights of stairs in the abandoned ruins of a mansion.

 

Sam tried to be brave but Dean called bullshit and took him to the hospital to have his chest x-rayed just in case. Sam insisted he was fine and they could take care of it themselves but he was  _wheezing_ pathetically and painfully and Dean just didn't want to take any chances.

 

So they were forced to take a break again. Sam was fine with it, spending days sleeping, reading books and working on his computer, as well as eating whatever Dean gave him (and protesting the amount). Dean was surprisingly okay with it too as he cared for Sammy (as much as Sammy let him) and relaxed, pushing his restlessness to the back of his mind but nonetheless wishing something would happen.

 

_Be careful what you wish for_ flitted through his shocked mind as he and Sam took in the blazing fire consuming their motel. They had went for a library-grocery-laundry run because they both needed a break from the monotony of their surroundings.

 

A second later Sam was out of the car and racing -  _racing! With his injuries!_ \- into their room. Dean was two seconds of complete shock behind him, hissing as he felt the scorching hot flames entirely too close for comfort. Pushing awful memories away to focus on here and now, he located Sam, who appeared to only now comprehend his situation, with his duffel bag securely in his grip and eyes wide open in horror  and rapidly loosing focus , and hauled him out, tearing him from the flames for the third and hopefully last time in his life.

 

They left the Impala running sufficiently far from the fire and smoke, and Dean dragged Sam right up to it, pushing him into her shining black side. “What the fuck was that, Sam?!” he roared into his brother's pale face. “What were you thinking!? No, you  _weren't_ thinking! Running into a burning fucking building for your bag?! There's nothing there that can't be replaced and you risked your  _life_ to get it! While  _**injured** _ !” he ranted furiously checking Sam over.

 

The kid was once again having problems with breathing, panting and gasping for breath, wheezing, his face twisted in pain; his ribs must have been vocally thanking him for the treatment. He was heavily leaning on the car and trembling but the when Dean went to take the stupid duffel from him he wouldn't let it go, clutching it in a death grip.

 

“Sam!” Dean's anger was pushed to the side lines as his concern grew. “Sam, come on, I gotta take you back to the hospital.” he said urgently but Sam shook his head in denial. “Don't be stupid, Sam, you can't breathe!”

 

“ 'S okay, jus' gimme a sec,” he panted. “Gotta catch m'breath. Don' need a hosp'tal tho'.” he insisted.

 

Dean pursed his lips but relented. Sam's breathing did seem to get easier though he was still pale and visibly in pain. “Wanna sit?” he asked.

 

Sam nodded his shaggy head so Dean opened the passenger door and helped Sam fold himself to fit inside. Sam fell on the seat, bringing his duffel up to lay it on his knees, relaxing a little.

 

Dean's brow furrowed. “What the hell's so important in that duffel that you couldn't leave it there?” he asked curiously.

 

Sam's lips twisted in a grimace. “I- it's-… I guess I can  as well  do it now.” he said enigmatically, starting to rummage through the bag's contents until he found a small box. He held it in his hands, staring at it for a while and then he took a deep breath and held the box out to Dean, who took it carefully and lifted the lid. Inside was a little pouch nestled in a sea of cotton for protection.

 

Dean lifted one eyebrow at the amount of wrappings and took the pouch out, laying the box on Sam's duffel and carefully undid the knot holding the pouch closed, upending it on his hand, hearing Sam's breath catch in his throat.

 

His own breath stopped as a familiar weight fell on his palm, the amulet's polished edges gleaming in the sun and flickering flames behind his back. He looked to Sam, whose gaze was focused solely on the pendant. “How?” he asked, surprised at how raspy his voice sounded.

 

“I took it out of the trash. Kept it. Hoped.” Sam said lowly. “You don't have to take it-” he started assuring Dean but the older hunter only snorted, putting the necklace back on quickly, instantly feeling better, more _complete_ as it settled on his chest.

 

Sam swallowed noisily, but a brilliant smile bloomed on his face before his eyes widened and he started talking so fast Dean barely understood. “Dean, that wasn't my Heaven, what you saw; that wasn't  _our_ real Heaven. Back then you wouldn't talk to me but I spoke with Cas and he agreed that Zachariah must have manipulated it 'cause those were  _nice_ memories but they weren't  _the best_ , an' it was like they were specifically chosen - yours to hurt me and mine to hurt you an ' -” he sucked in a deep breath, flinching, and went to explain more but Dean put a hand on his shoulder, silencing him, blinking tears back from his eyes.

 

“I get it Sammy, it's okay now, it's all good. Take it easy.” he said through clenched throat as Sam panted with a hopeful look in his eyes. “And I'm sorry for doing that to you, for getting rid of the amulet like that. Not a day went by that I didn't regret it.” Dean admitted and Sammy lit up like a Christmas tree. “Thanks for keeping it for me, little brother.”

 


End file.
